


got these scars on the same ground

by firefall



Category: Fast & Furious (Movies)
Genre: 5 Times, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Enemies to Friends, Fist Fights, Friends to Enemies, Gen, Growing Up Together, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Looking Back at Barstow: The Fic, M/M, Partners in Crime, Pre-Canon, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29092083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefall/pseuds/firefall
Summary: “You can’t fight for shit, bro!” Brian yells at Rome as they make their way out back to the car.  He’s fuming, hands jammed into his pockets so he won’t accidentally take a swing at his friend and render the whole ordeal pointless.  He’s so fucking mad.  “Not forshit!  What woulda happened if I wasn’t there to save your ass, huh?”“I’d probably be bleeding out,” Rome says cheerfully, shrugging like he doesn’t have a care in the world.  “That piece of glass was pretty damn sharp.”5 times Brian has Rome's back and 1 time he can't. (plus bonus)
Relationships: Brian O'Conner & Roman Pearce, Brian O'Conner/Roman Pearce
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	got these scars on the same ground

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this one on and off for about 5 years and finally finished it. Yeehaw. I decided to go with Brian and Rome's 2F2F "we grew up together" backstory rather than the F5 "we met in juvie" backstory, because I like it better. Fast and Furious canon is a playground and I'mma throw the sand anywhere I feel like! 
> 
> Warnings: swearing, alcohol use, discussions of child abuse, cops as things that exist, and the amount of violence you might expect from a F&F fic (though less than you'd find in the movies). 
> 
> Title is from "AM" by One Direction because no one should ever forget that that's the person I am.
> 
> Many thanks as per usual to my love A who read this over for me even though her F&F knowledge is minimal. You're always such a hero, you know that?
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Fast and Furious and am making no profit off this work.

**I.**

They’re nine and their principal has Roman by the shoulder, fingers digging in just a little too hard. 

She’s pulled him into the third grade locker bay to shield them from prying eyes, though Brian isn’t sure whether it’s for Roman’s sake or for her own. Every time he looks at her, he can feel the ghost of her fingers wrapped around his wrist just tight enough to hurt and hear her voice, low and dangerous, lecturing him about skipping class and applying himself and _you’re going to end up just like the rest of them, Brian O’Conner_. 

Now, bathroom pass clenched in his trembling hands, he peeks around the wall of lockers and holds his breath, scared of being caught but too curious to walk away. 

“I’m telling you…I didn’t do it!” Roman is saying, his voice too loud for the quiet hallway. “Someone set me up!”

“Oh, so it’s some other kid that’s been breaking into lockers every morning?” Ms. Thyne hisses and Brian flinches in his hiding spot. He knows that tone and, more importantly, he knows what comes _after_ that tone. Her hand tightens on Roman’s shoulder until her knuckles turn white. “And this is _your_ lunchbox?”

For the first time, Brian notices the little metal box at their feet. It has the Ninja Turtles on it.

“Yeah!” Roman cries, but Brian knows it’s a lie. In the four years they’ve been in class together, Brian has never seen Roman bring a lunch to school. Instead, he sits at the end of their lunch table and sips at a dilapidated plastic water bottle, eyes trained longingly on their sandwiches and bags of chips. This is the first time Brian realizes that he might be hungry. “Yeah, it’s m—”

He’s not sure why he does it – if it’s the hint of desperation that’s crept into Roman’s voice or if it’s because Brian’s always been too reckless for his own good – but suddenly Brian is busting out of the safety of his hiding space and cutting in, voice just on the edge of a shout, “It’s mine!”

Ms. Thyne whirls around, eyes so murderous they’d stop the devil in his tracks. But the devil is nowhere near as stubborn as Brian, so he stands his ground, hands propped on his hips. The bathroom pass flutters to the ground.

“Mr. _O’Conner_ ,” the principal spits, like his name offends her. And considering the amount of time he’s spent in her office, it probably does. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that’s _my_ lunch and I told Roman he could have it,” Brian tells her, the lie falling from between his lips with an ease that would make his mother cry. “He didn’t do anything wrong!”

It makes her lips curl. “ _This_ time,” she says, but she slowly, begrudgingly lets her arms fall to her sides, removing the vice-like grip from Roman’s skin. Finally both boys can breathe easier, palpable relief flooding the cramped locker bay. Brian can hear his own heart pounding in his chest.

The principal doesn’t let them say another word. She’s back to business within seconds, sending Brian on his way to the bathroom and whisking Roman back to class, a hand pressed safely to the middle of his back to move him along. Brian doesn’t see Roman again until lunch, blue eyes watching intently as Roman sinks into his chair at the end of the table and screws the cap off his water bottle. It’s all he has, just like always.

Ignoring the stares of his classmates, Brian gets up from his spot and takes the seat next to Roman, brown paper bag clutched nervously in his hand. Then, without a word, he digs his sandwich out and places it in front of the other boy, very carefully avoiding his eyes.

The silence between them is so thick Brian thinks he might choke on it. It’s Roman who finally breaks it, a shaky “why?” tumbling from his mouth, so quiet it’s barely audible.

“Because it’s _my_ lunch and I said you could have it,” Brian says firmly, words coming out much friendlier now that Ms. Thyne is no longer around. “I keep my promises.”

That’s all it takes and Roman breaks into a smile, grabbing for the sandwich and taking a huge bite. Brian laughs at his enthusiasm, picking up his apple to mirror him, trying to see how much of it he can fit in his mouth at once. Thankfully, their classmates are back to talking amongst themselves, leaving the two boys alone with their food and their giggles. When Roman has finished the sandwich – it only took thirty seconds and four bites – he speaks up again. “Rome,” he says seriously, fingers fidgeting against the tabletop.

“What?” Brian says in confusion, mouth full of Doritos.

“My friends call me Rome.”

“Okay,” Brian agrees, angling the bag of chips at Roman so he can take a handful. “I’ll remember that.”

**II.**

They’re twelve and Rome is crying and Brian is so mad his blood is nearly on fire with it.

“Who did this to you?” Brian demands and it comes out like a growl in his fury. “What asshole thought they could swing at my best friend and get away with it?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Rome sniffs and normally Brian would agree. They’ve both gotten in their fair share of scuffles that ended in cuts and bruises and blood spatters. Hell, it’s been less than a month since Brian had to get rushed to the ER with a pocketknife sticking out of his thigh, his mom’s fingers carding through his hair as she screamed at him in a mixture of rage and worry. But this is different – Rome’s eye is bright red, saturated with blood, and he’s _crying._ The tears alone are enough to make Brian completely terrified.

Rome never cries.

“It sure _seems_ like a big deal,” Brian mutters angrily, mostly to himself, but he drops it in favor of pushing his friend down onto the closed toilet seat in the O’Conners’ small, dingy bathroom. He folds up a couple tissues and wets them under the tap. “Hold still,” he orders, tone allowing for no argument, and leans down just enough to press the makeshift towel to Rome’s face. At the first touch of his fingers, Rome flinches violently.

“I can do it myself!” he cries, pulling back like the tissues are soaked in poison and batting at Brian’s arms when he doesn’t immediately do as he’s told. “Don’t touch me!”

Brian’s jaw clenches and he sucks in a huff of breath through his nose. “You’re crying blood, man!” he seethes, holding the red tissues out for Rome to see. At this point, he’s not entirely sure who he’s mad at, he just knows that punching something would feel really good right about now. “Don’t give me crap about it…just let me help you!”

“Screw you,” Rome grits out but he stills anyway, deciding – for probably the first time in his life – to listen to reason. “Just don’t make it hurt more.”

“If I wanted to do that, I woulda stuck a pocketknife in your leg,” Brian jokes darkly, but neither of them bothers laughing. It’s not funny in the slightest.

Brian spends the next ten minutes mopping the blood from his friend’s face, pretending not to notice the fresh tears that skate down Rome’s cheeks when he presses lightly at the fragile skin beneath his injured eye. When the tissues finally come away white, no blood to be seen, Brian sighs and hops up onto the bathroom counter. It’s a testament to how awful Rome is feeling that he doesn’t even crack a smile when Brian nearly falls into the sink.

“I still wanna know who did it,” Brian says quietly, the atmosphere in the room so heavy he’s afraid to speak up. “I wanna kick their ass.”

Rome snorts humorlessly. “You can’t.”

“Why not?” Brian challenges, crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest. “You know I fight better than anyone on our block. I beat that high schooler when he tried to steal my bike, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Rome allows, shrugging. “But you can’t beat this one.”

“Why not?” he asks again, eyes narrowing with annoyance. “Give me one reason why!”

“Because it’s my dad.”

All the air leaves the room in an instant, leaving Rome panting from his confession and Brian’s eyes so wide they hurt. “You—?” Brian starts, voice cutting off in his surprise. “He—?”

“I got too mouthy and he pushed me around a little,” Rome says with a shrug. He’s trying to sound casual, sound like it doesn’t bother him, but his hands are curled into tight fists against his thighs and the corners of his lips keep twitching, like his face wants to crumble. “It was an accident…I fell into the corner of the counter, but that’s not what he was trying to do. He just wanted me to listen. It’s on me.”

Brian doesn’t know much about dads – he hasn’t seen his own since he was four years old – but he’s fairly certain they’re not supposed to push their kids. No matter how much trouble Brian’s gotten himself into over the years, his mom has never once laid a hand on him. She’d yell and she’d cry and she’d ground him to his room for weeks at a time, but she’d never, ever make him bleed. Especially not out of his eye. But Rome probably doesn’t want to hear that, so he settles on “None of that is your fault, man” and hopes it’s good enough.

It’s _something_ enough, because Rome finally loses the battle, face falling and a single, choked sob tearing from the back of his throat. It’s the only one – he pulls himself together almost immediately – but Brian still leaps off the counter to kneel in front of his friend. He doesn’t say anything – he knows Rome is embarrassed enough without Brian getting all mushy and inevitably putting his foot in his mouth, so he just lays a gentle hand on the top of Rome’s head, fingers fiddling with the coarse curls there. Rome closes his eyes.

“I still wanna kick his ass,” Brian whispers after a while, getting to his feet and pulling his friend up with him. 

A tiny smile tugs at Rome’s lips for the first time all day. “I’d like to see you try, white boy,” he says and Brian sticks his tongue out in response.

**III.**

They’re fifteen and they don’t cry anymore.

When they’re sad they drown themselves in a six-pack smuggled from Rome’s fridge, and when they’re mad they pick fights with anyone who gets in their way, swinging fists and cussing a blue streak. And when they’re bored? They pop cars.

Which is why, the night before Brian’s sixteenth birthday, he finds himself crouched behind a bush, gravel digging into his bare knees and hungry eyes watching a man in a suit park an Escalade across the street. Brian would never want an Escalade himself – they’re too self-important without the speed to back it up – but he knows any number of garages that would pay good money for parts without asking questions. The yellow Late Rent slips are piling up on their kitchen table and Brian’s not sure he can bear hearing his mom cry even one more time. It happens way too often.

“Fancy car like that’s gonna have an alarm,” Rome says, shoulder knocking into Brian’s as he shifts around trying to get a better look through the branches. “Gonna go off as soon as we touch it.”

“So we work fast,” Brian says with a shrug, unbothered. They’ve dealt with car alarms before – sure, it makes it a hell of a lot harder, but it’s not impossible. “Bust in, wire it up quick, and drive off before Mr. Fancy Pants can call the cops. Easy.”

Rome snorts. “You’re crazy, Bry.”

“You love it!” Brian shoots back and then he’s gone, trampling the bush beneath his feet in his mad dash across the dark, empty street. Behind him, he can hear Rome squawking something that sounds like _fucking dumbass_ as he scrambles to catch up, but Brian ignores it in favor of falling to his knees next to the driver’s-side door, using the oversized vehicle to block himself from view. He sucks in a deep, calming breath and then gets right to it, jamming his knife into the middle of the window with all his strength, the crash of breaking glass echoing in the dying light.

The alarm goes off just like Rome said it would.

“I hate this, man,” Rome hisses from where he’s now standing at Brian’s back, keeping watch. He’s bouncing on his toes with nerves. “We shouldn’t be messing with no Escalades.”

“A little late for that now,” Brian grunts, gritting his teeth as he fumbles for the lock on the inside of the door. It’s taking way too long, but his mind is swimming with yellow late slips and sobs from his mother’s bedroom so he keeps on, the car alarm ringing loud in his ears.

The lock finally clicks just as the first gunshot rings out.

The next few seconds are a blur of panicked swearing, angry shouts, and flailing limbs. By the end of it, the man in the suit has Brian by the neck, pinned up against the stupid fucking Escalade just high enough that his toes can’t quite touch the ground. The barrel of the gun is pressed to his belly and no matter how hard Brian tries, he can’t stop shaking. He’s going to die. His knife is missing and Rome’s bleeding out his mouth and Brian is going to die before he can ever reach sixteen.

“Please don’t!” Brian cries, finding that having cold steel pressed into the soft part of your stomach takes a lot of the embarrassment out of begging. He’d drop down to the dirty ground right then and there and kiss the man’s designer dress shoes if it meant not getting blown to bits. It isn’t a realization he much likes. “ _Please_ just let us go! We’ll never try it again…I promise!” 

“I’m not going to shoot you.” The man rolls his eyes, lifting his elbow up to block a punch from Rome who’s finally managed to get his bearings. It slams into Rome’s chin, sending the boy sprawling. If Brian wasn’t afraid for his life and his inner organs, he might have laughed. “Not unless you try to run before the police can come collect you.”

At the mention of the cops, Brian’s stomach turns to ice and his blood to fire. His body acts without his permission, flinging his head forward to slam into the man’s nose and bringing a knee up between his legs at the same time. The man howls in pain, the gun tumbling to the ground to slide beneath the Escalade as he sinks to his knees, hands clutching at his bloody face.

And then they’re running, Brian yanking Rome to his feet and dragging him down the sidewalk as the wail of sirens starts to fill the air. They duck around a corner into an alley, tripping over trash cans and piles of junk in the dark. “He could have killed you!” Rome is screaming, his panicked fingers digging into Brian’s forearm hard enough to leave bruises. “What the hell, Brian!”

Brian hardly hears him, too focused on what’s in front of him. As is their luck, the alley is a dead end, blocked off by a wooden privacy fence that has to be at least ten feet tall. “ _Shit_!” he swears, pulling up short before they can hurdle straight into it. “ _Shit_ , how are we supposed to get over that?”

The obvious answer is _you don’t_ , but as slamming car doors and tinny radio commands cut through the night air, Brian knows what he has to do. “I’m gonna boost you up!” he shouts, grabbing Rome roughly by the shoulders and spinning him to face the fence. Then he squats and laces his hands together, making a perfect foothold for his friend, and starts slapping the back of Rome’s legs in his haste. “Hurry up!”

Rome, true to form, doesn’t fucking listen. “Then you’ll be stuck here!” he cries, eyes so wide Brian can see the whites of them. “You can’t climb over by yourself!”

The roar that comes from the back of Brian’s throat is a mixture of rage and terror. “Just do it!” he says, muscles pulled so tight they’re starting to hurt. “You know it’s gonna be so much worse for you, man! I’ll be okay…just go!”

It’s true and Rome knows it’s true. With a final shout of “what the hell!” to voice his displeasure, he lets Brian push him up until he can get a solid hold on the top of the fence. Then he pulls himself up and over just as the fog lights click on, turning the alley bright as day.

Brian has both his hands in the air before he can even be ordered.

He’s sentenced to nearly two years in a juvenile detention center in Tucson, slated for release on his eighteenth birthday. His mother cries when she gets the call from the police station, cries when he’s put on trial before a steely-eyed judge, and cries when he’s finally loaded onto the bus and shipped to Arizona.

And, as much as he tries to pretend like he’s not, Brian cries too.

**IV.**

They’re nineteen and they’re at a club they’re too young to get into and Brian can’t find Rome anywhere.

They’d barely tucked their fake IDs back into their wallets before Rome had taken off in pursuit of some leggy brunette that was much too old for him, not to mention miles out of his league. Rome’s always dreamed big, though, despite the steady stream of letdowns that have characterized his teenaged years. But he hasn’t come stomping back to Brian’s side to pout about his misfortune yet, so maybe shooting for the stars actually got him somewhere this time. Good for him.

Brian, on the other hand, is under no delusions that his scrawny little teenage ass is anything but out of place in the club, so he buys a drink and sips it at the bar, waiting to see if anyone will approach. A group of tipsy college girls end up on the barstools next to him, but when he grins and lifts his beer in greeting, they just giggle like he’s the funniest thing they’ve ever seen.

“Where’d they find you at?” one of them says, her eyes dancing with mirth. A section of her hair is falling out of her ponytail. “Abercrombie and Fitch?”

“No, American Eagle!” her friend says, hiding a snicker behind her hand.

“In the boys’ section,” a third one crows, the glitter on her eyelids dancing in the light. “Right, baby? Extra small?”

Face burning with embarrassment, Brian takes that as his cue to leave, chugging down what’s left of his beer and slamming the empty bottle onto the counter. “Have a nice night, ladies,” he says, knowing they’re too out of it to realize he’s annoyed. “And maybe drink some fucking water.”

When Brian still hasn’t managed to find Rome ten minutes later, he starts getting worried. If by some miracle he went home with that girl, he should’ve at least _said_ something. Rome knows better than to just disappear in the middle of the night in Barstow fucking California – that’s how people end up dead.

“Idiot,” Brian mutters under his breath, stomach twisting with anxiety. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

Then there’s a loud crash from the women’s bathroom and Brian is shouldering his way inside before he can even really think about it. His good qualities are few and far between, but you’d be hard pressed to find a dude with a better reaction time to violence.

And thank god for that, because Rome’s halfway to the grave when Brian rounds the corner.

The mirror over the sinks has been shattered into pieces, a sharp, vaguely dagger-shaped one pressed to Rome’s jugular as he pleads desperately with the huge man pinning him to the dirty bathroom floor. “I didn’t know she was your girl, man!” he’s choking out, hands scrambling for the guy’s wrists as he tries his best to squirm away. Rome’s even smaller than Brian – he doesn’t have a chance. “She didn’t tell me!”

Of all the things Rome could’ve said, that’s just about the worst. But Brian doesn’t give the man time to react, lunging forward and kicking him in the head before he can cut his best friend to ribbons. The man gives a shout of surprise, dropping the piece of glass as he loses his balance and falls to his side. When he sees that his assailant is some blue-eyed-blond barely-legal, he veritably _growls_ , deciding he doesn’t give a shit about Rome anymore. Brian’s sprawled on his back in less than a second.

He takes a few hits to the face that fill his mouth with blood, but despite the man’s hulking size, Brian is able to get enough leverage to wrap his skinny legs around the guy’s neck, cutting off his air. After that it’s easy to bat his hands away and even land a cruel fist to the top of the guy’s head when he tries to bite Brian’s thigh. The man is gasping for breath, eyes bugging out of his head.

Rome’s brunette is pleading with Brian to let go, panic written into the lines of her beautiful face. In the back corner of his brain not currently alight with adrenaline and rage, Brian thinks she’s got a lot of audacity considering this whole thing is her fault for lying to Rome. 

“Talk your boy down and I’ll let him go!” he shouts at her, body hot and seething. When she just stares at him, frozen, he adds, “I don’t wanna hurt him, okay? So call him the fuck off!”

She falls to her knees next to her man, desperately begging him to give it up. “C’mon, baby,” she cries, casting a nervous glance at Brian. “C’mon, let’s just go home.”

Finally, gurgling and panting for air, the man taps out, clumsily slapping one of Brian’s hips. Brian lets him go immediately, jumping back to his feet and spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor. He gets into a defensive stance just in case the guy decides not to keep his word, but no more punches are thrown. The man slinks out of the bathroom like a chastised child and doesn’t look back.

“You can’t fight for shit, bro!” Brian yells at Rome as they make their way out back to the car. He’s fuming, hands jammed into his pockets so he won’t accidentally take a swing at his friend and render the whole ordeal pointless. He’s so fucking mad. “Not for _shit_! What woulda happened if I wasn’t there to save your ass, huh?”

“I’d probably be bleeding out,” Rome says cheerfully, shrugging like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “That piece of glass was pretty damn sharp.”

“God, I fucking _hate_ you.” Then Brian sighs, flinging the car door open and hitting the locks so Rome can get in the passenger side. “Was she worth it at least?”

Rome’s grin is ear-to-ear. “What’d’ya think?”

“I think _any_ girl is worth it when you’re as desperate as Roman Pearce.”

Rome makes an indignant sound in the back of his throat. “Man, shut the fuck up! I didn’t see _you_ making out with nobody!”

Brian jams the car into gear and peels out of the parking lot at breakneck speed, cackling when Rome yelps and has to grab the oh-shit handle. “Oh, you wanted to watch? Just let me know next time and I’ll get you a front row seat. How ‘bout that?”

“Boy, you play too much,” Rome grumbles, but when they go flying over a railroad track at 85, he whoops happily, reaching over to slap Brian on the shoulder.

**V.**

They’re twenty-one and Rome is drunk as hell and Brian is glad he decided not to leave Barstow.

“Pour one out for the old bastard,” Rome slurs, tipping the bottle of vodka just enough to spill a couple ounces onto the ground. It turns the hard packed dirt into mud immediately.

“That shit’s expensive,” Brian reminds him, reaching over to right the bottle before it’s empty. “Besides, you’ve had enough. Try this now.” He drops a water bottle into Rome’s lap, making him wince. “Ah fuck, sorry.”

“You’re an idiot,” Rome tells him, but does as he’s told, drinking half the water in one go. “I don’t know what we’re doin’ this for anyway…I don’t care that he’s dead.”

It’s a good point. You’d be lucky to find one person that _does_ care that David Pearce is dead. He’d messed with the wrong guy and gone down for it, just like everyone on the block had been predicting since the 70’s. Outside of Rome and his mother, Brian was the only other person at his funeral. 

“I feel like you’re supposed to get drunk when your dad dies,” Brian says slowly, wondering for one fleeting second whether his own father is dead or alive. Then he shakes the thought away. Who cares about that deadbeat son of a bitch. “I’m just doing my best friend-ly duties.”

Rome laughs a little. “Don’t get all emotional about it.” Then his expression darkens. “When I found out he was dead, my first thought was ‘good.’ That’s messed up, isn’t it? Like, I’m prob’ly going to hell for that.”

Brian’s nose wrinkles. “He’s an asshole that used to hit you. That sure ain’t getting _him_ into heaven.” Feeling suddenly cold despite the balmy California weather, Brian pulls his knees up to his chin and hugs himself around his shins, careful not to fall off the edge of the bench. “It’s like—you know how my mom hasn’t talked to me since I got back from juvie? Barely a word. Doesn’t even look at me most days. She’d always said that she loved me no matter what, but all it took was two years in Tucson to find out that that was a lie. But you know what? If she died today, I’d be a mess.” He smiles sadly, just a little twitch of his lips. “I’d probably cry my eyes out like a little girl. Make you smack me in the face to get me to shut up.”

Rome is looking at him in confusion, forehead crinkled. “What the fuck are you talking about, Bry?”

“What I’m _saying_ ,” Brian says impatiently, flinging a dismissive hand at his friend, “is that our parents are pieces of shit and we’re allowed to feel whatever we want about them. You hate your dad? That’s fine. I can’t manage to hate my mom even though I probably should? That’s also fine. They’re our fucking parents and it was their responsibility to treat us right and they didn’t, so however we deal with that is on them.” Brian’s breath catches in his throat and all at once he feels embarrassingly vulnerable. His face is so hot he’s afraid it might catch fire. “So they can just…fuck off.”

“What did I say about getting emotional about it?” Rome says, but there’s less teasing in his voice than Brian expected. “You gonna be a shrink when you grow up?”

Brian grins. “Who said anything about growing up?” 

They sit in silence for a few minutes, staring out at the sea of tombstones that are starting to disappear into the falling darkness. Pearce’s is just a plain cross without an engraving, the cheapest stone available. There’s not much upkeep done at this cemetery – his plot will probably be overgrown within a couple weeks. Oh well. It’s not like the dead care.

“This is fucking depressing,” Rome says after a while. “Let’s get outta here.”

Brian nods his agreement, giving his friend a single slap on the back. “Let’s go for a ride.”

Normally they like to take the main roads, bobbing and weaving around anything that gets in their way and challenging random dudes to races at stoplights. But tonight is serious business. Tonight they need some real speed, the kind of speed you can only get on the outskirts of town surrounded by nothing but desert. 

“Think I can top 100?” Brian asks, raising his eyebrows mischievously as they turn onto a gravel road. He comes to a stop and revs the engine, like he’s goading the empty road into a chase. “Or 120?”

“Yeah, if you wanna be driving in a cloud,” Rome points out, rolling his eyes. “All them rocks—gonna sound like we’re being shot at.”

“We should feel right at home, then,” Brian says, then throws the car into gear. 

The wheels spin out for a few seconds before they catch and then they’re practically flying. Rome was right about the cloud – Brian can barely see what’s in front of them, but he’s not dissuaded, switching gears as he goes faster and faster. This road is a straight shot for nearly a mile – provided no animal decides to run out in front of them, it’ll be smooth sailing. Brian is screaming wordlessly at the top of his lungs, overcome with joy like he always is as the speedometer climbs and climbs and climbs. He feels weightless. He feels _free_ , parents and Barstow and the future the furthest things from his mind.

Rome’s screaming, too, but with much less delight. His hand is braced on the ceiling and he’s scooting back in his seat like it’ll somehow keep him safer. “This car don’t even have any mods, man!” he cries, clutching at his seatbelt. “You’re gonna blow the engine!”

“She’s fine, she’s fine,” Brian promises, then thrusts his fist triumphantly into the air when the needle finally clicks over to 100. “Gotcha!”

As a grand finale, Brian quickly spins the wheel as he brakes, kicking up a spray of dirt and rocks that slam against the metal like a firing squad. When they finally skid to a stop, they’re facing back the way they came, the cloud settling on the hood of the car like a dusty second coat of paint.

Panting for breath, Brian laughs out, “Told you!”

Rome has a hand pressed to his heart like he’s trying to keep it from crawling out of his chest. “There’s something seriously wrong with you!” he shouts, stone cold sober. “What the fuck!”

“Hey, stopped you from blubbering, though.”

Rome flips him both middle fingers. “Shut up, I was _not_ blubbering.”

“Whatever you say, buddy.” Then a wicked smirk creeps across Brian’s face. “Wanna do it again?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Rome smiles back. “120 this time?”

“120 this time.” 

Then they’re off and they don’t even blow the engine.

**+1.**

They’re twenty-three and Brian’s watching Rome through the one-way glass.

He hadn’t been on duty when Rome got busted, but the second he heard his best friend was in lockup, he came running. Apparently, Rome had eight stolen cars in his garage. Though he claims to have been housing them for someone else, he hasn’t given up their names yet. Brian knows he never will. Barstow doesn’t breed snitches.

“Don’t even think about trying anything,” Chief Emmaus warns him, voice low and threatening even from the other side of the room. His arms are crossed over his chest and he makes a menacing picture, features sullied with a glare.

“I’m not,” Brian lies, mind already whirring as he tries to sort through his options. But outside of breaking Rome out himself and smuggling him over the Mexican border, there’s not much he can do. Rome is fucked and Brian is as useless as the badge on his chest.

“I’m serious.” Emmaus comes over to stand next to Brian, shoulders squared and pulled to his full height like he’s trying to start some macho pissing match with him. Brian refuses to play along, just raises a wary eyebrow as if to say _and?_ “The only difference between you and him—” He pokes Brian in the chest and then taps the glass in Rome’s vague direction. “—is that he got caught as an adult. I know who you are and I know about your record, O’Conner. If you make one wrong move, you’re going to end up in a cell right alongside him and you’re _never_ getting out, do I make myself clear?”

“Vividly.”

“Good.”

Brian was right – Rome never snitches and Rome never cracks. By the time his two-hour interrogation is over, the cops assigned to his case are exhausted and Rome is smirking like he’s won. Brian gets it, he really does, but he wishes that for once in his damn life Rome would use the good sense God gave him. Because he may have won the night, but he’s still going to prison. There’s no getting around that.

They schedule a hearing date and then send Rome back down to lockup. 

When Brian is finally able to leave for the night, he takes a detour at the holding cells to make sure that his friend is alright. He knows what it’s like to be left there overnight, cold, scared, and alone. He hopes he never has to do it again.

But when Brian whispers “Rome!” into the stillness of the cell, his friend looks far from cold, scared, and alone. He looks fucking _pissed_.

“Shut up, pig,” he seethes, punctuating it by spitting straight in Brian’s face. Brian stumbles back, eyes wide and heart in his throat. “Don’t call me that!”

“But, Rome, you—!”

“I _said_ , don’t call me that!” he insists, dark eyes full of fire. “Did you lose your loyalty _and_ your hearing?”

As Brian stands there with spit dripping down his left cheek, he comes the closest to crying that he’s been in almost a decade. He doesn’t have to ask if their friendship is over – he knows. Fourteen years erased in a single night.

“You think this is my fault?” Brian hisses, decisively tapping into the simmering rage he can feel igniting in his belly, because even though it hurts like fire, it’s way better than crying. “What am I supposed to do?”

“You’re not supposed to be with them, that’s what.” Rome’s chest is heaving, like he’s too angry to catch his breath. He’s clutching the bars so hard it’s a wonder his knuckles don’t split open and bleed. “You’re not supposed to be a traitor, _that’s what_!”

“I didn’t put you in here!”

“Well, you ain’t getting me out, are you?” Rome’s face curls into an ugly snarl. “Just get out of here, Brian. _Get out_. And don’t bother talking to me anymore, either, because I’ll bust you one right in the jaw!”

Nostrils flaring, Brian whirls away from him and marches off, body shaking with tension. “Good luck reaching!” he tosses over his shoulder, one last barb. “ _Asshole_.”

Despite his anger, Brian is at the county courthouse within forty-eight hours to post Rome’s two grand bail. For old time’s sake, if nothing else. Besides, it’s not like Mrs. Pearce can afford it. Hell, _Brian_ can barely afford it. But eating white rice for the next two months is worth being able to sleep at night.

But just as he’s digging the wad of cash from his jeans pocket, he hears someone clear their throat behind him. Brian’s head snaps up.

It’s Emmaus. “Thought I might find you here,” he says, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s the money for?”

“I—um. I—” Brian stammers, unable to come up with a reasonable lie. The Chief knows why he’s here. There’s no point in digging his grave even deeper. “Uh, Rome.” Then he clenches his teeth and corrects himself. “ _Roman_.”

“That would be a really bad idea, kid,” Emmaus tells him, tone leaving no doubt as to whether he’s being threatened. “Especially if you like your job.”

As a kid, Brian hadn’t thought much about being a cop. He hadn’t thought much about _any_ career, honestly. Like most of the kids in Barstow, he and Rome only worried about the here and the now, doing their best to survive until the next day. They fought and they stole and they made their mothers cry and they hoped to God they’d make it to eighteen. But crossing over into adulthood wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, because now they had to _be_ something and that was the hardest of all.

Violence has followed Brian all of his life, molding him and shaping him into the man that he is, so going to the police academy just made sense. If violence was always going to be a part of him, maybe he could at least learn to prevent it. Learn to _save_ people from it. But from where he’s standing now, free as a bird while his former best friend rots behind bars, he’s wondering if he made the right choice. 

They won’t even let him pay Rome’s bail, _god_.

It’d be so easy to throw in the towel right then and there, so easy to swagger up to the desk and drop the roll of hundreds into the clerk’s waiting hands while Emmaus watches, but Brian can’t get his cowardly feet to move. He’s only had this job for two months – he can’t afford to lose it now. It’s about survival. It’s _always_ about survival.

“Well?” Chief Emmaus demands, face red with anger.

“I like my job, sir,” Brian mumbles, sliding the cash back into his pocket. As he follows the man out the double doors and into the lobby, he’s never hated himself more.

**Bonus.**

They’re thirty-five and fully pardoned and Brian is sleeping soundly next to Mia in their bedroom at 1327.

When Brian jolts awake, heart racing, it takes a few seconds to figure out what pulled him from sleep. Then he hears his phone buzzing on the nightstand and scrambles out of bed as quietly as possible. Even though it’s been nearly a decade, he instantly recognizes the number. It's the fucking LAPD.

“ _Shit_ ,” he hisses, hurrying into the hallway before picking up. With Jack still young and colicky it’s a rare occasion that they get to sleep for more than a couple hours at a time – he’s not letting the _cops_ of all people interrupt Mia’s rest. He doesn’t even bother trying to hide his irritation when he demands, “What the fuck do you guys want?”

He's met with rich, familiar laughter. “Damn, Bry, tell ‘em how you really feel!”

The annoyance melts away in an instant, replaced by worry. “Rome? What’re you doing at the station? Did you get hauled in?”

“Yeah, but it’s no big deal,” Rome says like it’s supposed to in any way assuage Brian’s fears. It doesn’t. The last time Rome got arrested, he went to prison for three years. The last time Rome got arrested, Brian lost his best friend. He’ll die before he lets either of those things happen again. 

“What’re you in for? Have they set your bail yet?” Brian is trying his best not to panic, wondering just how set in stone their pardons really are. Because it would be just like the FBI or some fucking judge to decide that another misdemeanor is enough to erase Rome’s hard-won amnesty. Brian’s not above flipping another prison transport bus, but he’s got a _kid_ now. He’s got Jack and he’s got a _life_ and he’s got—

“Man, I can hear you coming unglued,” Rome teases him, not a hint of distress in his voice. It’d be way more comforting if Rome wasn’t a notorious idiot. “Calm down. I don’t need bail or nothing, I just need my ID. I can’t find my house key and some asshole musta called the cops on me when I tried to break in through a window. So all I gotta do is prove it’s my own damn house and then I’m free to go.”

Brian hadn’t realized he was holding his breath, but at Rome’s explanation all the air in his lungs comes whooshing out of his mouth in relief. “Fucking hell, dude,” he mumbles, swiping an exhausted hand down his face. “That’s all?”

“Yep. So you gonna help me out or not?”

“What do you take me for? Be there in fifteen.”

Brian leaves a note for Mia and a kiss on Jack’s forehead and then takes off, rolling his eyes to himself when he stops by Rome’s house to find his wallet right there on the kitchen counter next to his keys. One would think a grown man, and a millionaire at that, would remember his shit when he goes out, but this _is_ Roman Pearce they’re talking about. Growing up was never an option.

He makes it to the station in twelve minutes. Tanner is on duty because that’s exactly what Brian’s life is like, but rather than reading him his Miranda Rights on sight, the man just lifts his chin in a weary greeting. 

“Of course it’s you,” he says, but it’s not unkind. It’s just resigned. Brian gets that a lot. “You got the ID?”

Once they get everything all sorted out, some low-level rent-a-cop leads Rome from the holding cells with his hands behind his back. The sight rankles, reminds Brian of years long past, of being a cowardly, impotent deputy that let his best friend rot. But he’s forcibly put those years behind him now and he’s never going to be a coward again. Not when it comes to protecting his family. 

“Is there a reason he’s still cuffed?” he snaps, striding across the room with his hand already curling into a fist. “You got your fucking proof!”

“Stand down, O’Conner,” Tanner warns him. Then he turns to the deputy in annoyance. “What’re you trying to do, Miller? Let him go.”

“Your man here _loves_ handcuffs,” Rome says, an irreverent smirk on his face. When he’s finally free, he turns around to stare down at the nervous deputy. “Is that why you got into this? State-sanctioned sadism?”

Despite the stress and adrenaline of the night, Brian finds himself laughing. “Don’t push your luck, Pearce,” he says, throwing an arm around Rome’s neck in a friendly gesture that quickly turns into a headlock. By the time they get out to the parking lot, they’re pushing and shoving like little kids.

“Are you kidding me?” Brian is shouting, sweeping Rome’s legs out from under him and then launching himself on top of him in the dirt. “Are you _kidding_ me? After everything we’ve fucking been through, you almost get sent back to prison because you forget your fucking house key?”

“Ugh, get _off_ me!” Rome cries, jabbing a hand into Brian’s throat. Brian chokes in surprise, his grip letting up, and Rome takes the opportunity to flip them over, pinning Brian to the ground and cuffing him upside the head a few times. “It coulda happened to anyone!”

Brian slaps Rome’s hands away easily, putting his own hand to the middle of Rome’s chest and holding him at arm’s length, gleefully using his greater reach to his advantage. “But it didn’t! It happened to _you_!” 

“Shut up!”

By the time they tire themselves out, they’re covered in dirt and Brian has Rome completely trapped, arms pinned to his sides. “Fine, fine…uncle!” Rome finally cries, exasperated. “Let me go, man, you smell like shit! When’s the last time you showered?”

They’re brave words for a guy who doesn’t have an infant to take care of, but Brian releases him all the same, collapsing back into the dust and gasping for air. Then, as he stares up at the polluted LA night sky, he laughs out, “Bro, you still haven’t learned to fight? It’s been _years_!”

Rome reaches over to smack him on the stomach, but rather than cuss Brian out like he expected, he just laughs, too. “Never needed to,” he points out, quiet and self-deprecating like he rarely is. “Always had you to back me up.”

The sheer sincerity of it makes Brian’s body go still with shock, but only for a minute. If Rome can be brave tonight, then Brian can, too. He sits up, unable to hold back his grin. “I’ve got you,” he promises, pure and simple. “Do you believe that?”

Rome wrinkles his nose, despite being the one to initiate this heart-to-heart. “Yeah, you fucking sap, I believe it.”

“Good,” Brian says decisively, poking Rome in the forehead just to hear him squawk in annoyance. “Because I’m gonna be on your ass for the rest of your life.”

“Do you _have_ to say it like that?”

No, Brian doesn’t have to say it like that. He doesn’t have to let Rome punch him, either, but when the dude comes at him swinging, he doesn’t dodge it. And when it dissolves into an all-out scuffle once again, Brian lets Rome win and Rome doesn’t even complain about it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! 
> 
> The tumblr post for this work is [here](http://arolou.tumblr.com/post/642069814257532928/got-these-scars-on-the-same-ground-relationship) so if you liked it, consider giving it a reblog :)


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